Days in the Life of Mo

Dear Airplane Mode,

You’ve always known when to step in.
Not like the others, like Do Not Disturb, who always forgets that “disturb” also means emotional disturbance. Or Focus Mode, who means well but still lets notifications slip through like water in a cracked glass. No, you, Airplane Mode, you don’t play. You don’t compromise. You don’t ask questions. You just… disconnect.

Every time I tap your little airplane icon, it’s like whispering, “Please, make the world stop talking to me for a bit.”
And you do.

You ground me, ironically, by taking me offline.

In a world where every ding, buzz, and banner thinks it deserves immediate attention, you are the only one brave enough to say, “Not now.”

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The Quiet Revolution of Disconnection

We’ve romanticized connection so much that we’ve forgotten how to sit still. We text during meals, check Slack in the shower (don’t lie), and scroll through existential dread before bed. We are, as sociologist Sherry Turkle puts it, “alone together.” (Her TED Talk, “Connected, but alone?” is a haunting reflection on how we mistake constant contact for true connection.)

But when I turn on Airplane Mode, it feels like stepping into the analog past, no Wi-Fi, no LTE, no algorithm trying to know me better than I know myself. Just me, the soft hum of my thoughts, and maybe the occasional bird outside my window (which I hear now, because there’s no audio chaos competing).

It’s weirdly freeing.
Like digital fasting.
Like saying, “I’ll love you later, internet… but right now, I need to love myself.”

When Boundaries Have Wings

Airplane Mode isn’t just a setting; it’s a philosophy.
It says: you don’t need to reply immediately. You don’t need to be reachable 24/7. You don’t even need to be online to be alive.

You can pause.
You can vanish.
You can be a person, not a status bubble.

And the irony? The world doesn’t end. No one actually dies because your phone was on silent for an hour. The Earth spins. People wait. Life continues.

When I first started working in tech, I used to think productivity was about being “available.” My phone was basically an electronic leash. Until one burnout later, and a hospital wristband to match, I realized boundaries are not luxuries; they’re survival mechanisms.

So now, every time I hit that little airplane button, it’s a quiet rebellion. It’s me saying:

I choose peace over pings.

Airplane Mode, My Therapist Would Approve

There’s actual science behind your magic. A 2017 study in the Journal of Social and Clinical Psychology found that limiting social media use significantly reduced feelings of loneliness and depression. Disconnecting, even briefly, helps the brain recalibrate. It gives dopamine a break from its endless scroll.

So yeah, Airplane Mode, you’re basically therapy with fewer copays.

You give me clarity.
You give me quiet.
You give me the reminder that silence isn’t empty, it’s full of answers.

Yours, Always (But Only When I’m Offline)

You are the one boundary that works.
Not out of spite, but out of care.
Not because I don’t want to hear from people, but because I want to hear from myself.

So here’s to you, the unsung hero of self-preservation.
Every time the world gets too loud, I’ll reach for you, and find peace at 30,000 feet (or just in my living room).

Forever yours,
A tired dev girl with too many tabs open and not enough silence.

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